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I tap my fingers against my leg. "You are aware that I am on the Autism Spectrum?" I wait for her nod. My diagnosis isn’t a secret. I know people around the office talk about me. Some in hushed tones, some with wonder. I mostly ignore it all. I am who I am. "Well, there are accom’modations I require in order to function at the highest level. Some 'quirks', as my brothers call them, that I just have to work around. To the outside world, I'm considered disabled, even if I don't think of myself that way. But Ransom saw I am skilled in certain areas and allowed me to work in a way that makes sense for me." I clear my throat. "Would you consider yourself to have a disability?"
Janey sags in her chair. "A doctor hasn't ever told me so, but I've done some research on my own. So yes, I probably do."
Based on what she's said about her writing and organization stills, it makes sense. "We have employees that use wheelchairs. Some use ASL, some are vision impaired. They are all provided with accommodations, and in return, they are productive employees. Why should we not do the same for you?"
"Oh," Janey breathes, sitting up in her chair. Everything about her seems lighter. "I didn't really think about it like that."
Her smile is back, and her eyes look happy again. I made her feel better. I step back and stare at the tip of her shoes. Her feet are small, even in proportion to her height.
I turn off my ears again, letting my brothers talk to her while I study the sensation in my chest. I've never felt it before, and I'm not sure I like it. The burning focus I feel, almost like an invisible rope is anchored in my chest, is a consuming feeling. What is this? Why now, and why her?
I tune in when Janey mentions checking on me. 'Mr. Lee' she calls me. My name suddenly feels wrong coming from her mouth.
"Jonas, not Mr. Lee. I don't like that." I mumble, still staring at those delicate feet. The woman has all my attention now, and I can't decide if I like it.
I do know that until I figure it out, I'll be spending a lot more time near her.
2
JONAS
Six Months Later
The alarm on my phone barely rings before I slap it off. I've been holding it for the last three minutes, waiting for it to go off. I could have turned it off earlier. I've been awake for a while, but I don't like doing that. Doing the same things, at the same time, like getting up or eating breakfast, helps me cope with the chaos in my life. The chaos that comes with my family.
Alarm at 6:00 AM. Two minutes to piss and wake up. Then five for my shower. There's a digital clock on the wall in the bathroom, but I don't need it to stay on schedule. I haven't needed it in years.
The rest of my morning is more of the same. Getting dressed is easy. My entire wardrobe is equally comfortable so I trail my fingers along the hangers until my fingers like the shirt I'm touching. I do the same with the pants, landing on a buttery soft dark blue pair. Chinos, Zach calls them. I don't care what they're called, only that they're soft and don't restrict my movement. I can't stand anything tight around my knees.
I can't say I understand why women wear leggings, though I admit I'm glad they do...or, to be more accurate, I'm glad Janey does.
As usual, thinking of Janey causes a confusing, maddening mix of feelings to build up in my chest. A feeling build-up isn't unusual. I feel everything all the time.
But this is different.
She is different.
She's everything.
I've worked hard to tune out parts of the world so that I can function in it. At the office, it's not a problem. I've set up my work environment in a way that lets me focus. And usually, focusing is my superpower. At least that's how Maya, my friend, and my brother's girlfriend, would phrase it.
I like the idea of it being my superpower.
But I can't tune out Janey.
I tried.
Hard.
But no matter what, I can't escape her. She's always on my mind. More now than ever, which is frustrating.
Frustrating because I want to do something about it.
I want her.
More specifically, I want her to want to be with me.
Too much want.
